


Feather Light

by Jaseish (Kymopoleia)



Category: LoliRock (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst fic, Chapter 8 onwards mind the warnings, F/M, Mild Gore, Spoilers for Season 2 finale, Torture, alternate ending: the bad guys win
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Jaseish
Summary: Clear blue skies.Pink crystal glinting in the light.Sun-bleached wood under shoes, water lapping at the shore.Clear purplish blue flower petals, soft as peach fuzz and tied in a gauzy pouch.Lanterns tied on string, illuminating a soft summer night, sand under feet, laughing under the stars and drinking fancy and delicate drinks.He takes her hand. She takes a deep breath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying something new with this fic. hopefully it'll keep me to posting more of it, but i have no idea there u know... wish me luck haha
> 
> this is just the prologue!! or maybe it's a real chapter, it's a bit rushed so i don't wanna count it as entirely real y'know?

“Give up, princess, and I may spare some of you.” Comes across the battlefield, gravelly and terrifying. It’s just Iris against Gramorr, her shanila against her crown in his hands.

Before she can reply she’s inched back again, getting closer to where she’d hidden her friends behind a shield. She knows they’re watching, knows they’re scared, but she has to do this. For herself, for them.

Iris looks up sharply at him, straining against the force. Through the lightshow she sees Praxina step forward, lift her hand, and-

The magic overpowers her and slams her back into the building, her vision swimming. She crumples to the ground, rubble all around her and dust already beginning to swirl around her and settle, sticking to the places where the rubble had cut her, blood leaking slowly and getting into her face.

Mephisto watched his sister overpower the princess, and suddenly felt that they’d never been farther apart.

The other princesses break out of the barrier that Iris had created, tears streaming down their faces. Praxina shoves a hand back and he slots his fingers between hers, and together they speak.

“Ateruina!”

The princesses and their little rat are tossed into the air, too weak still to do anything else. Talia manages to stumble upright, and Carissa lands on her knees, but it’s not enough.

“Take a look at your princess.” Gramorr announces. “She’s dead. Leave now and I will spare you, tell all of Ephedia what you saw here today!” He lifted his hand and aimed it at the ground in the heart of where the princesses dragged themselves, as if trying to fight back, and began to glow with power.

“Get out of here while you still can!” Praxina cackles, fingers slipping from Mephisto’s. “Without your dear little Iris you’re nothing~”

Gramorr takes another shot, the explosion from this one sending the princesses flying over the sides of the mountain.

Mephisto couldn’t watch.

He strode past his sister and boss, then teleported over to the princess.

She was bleeding badly and face down, her arms stretched out to weakly frame her face. He leaned in close and listened gently, muttering a spell to himself.

That couldn’t just be it, right? How could she be dead?

Except…

“The princess is alive.” He announces, resting a hand on her shoulderblade. “She’s weak but she’s alive.”

“Then finish her.” Gramorr is suddenly a whip of a shadow before standing directly behind him, speaking softly. “Or I will.”

“Come on Mephisto!” Praxina clenched her fists. “Do it!”

“I can’t kill her like this!” Mephisto snapped. “If she were fighting me…” he can’t finish that sentence, tack the ‘maybe’ on at the end. “It’s dishonorable.”

“And when have you cared about dishonor?” Praxina propped a fist up on her hip. “Our kingdom was burned and this princess is the last standing member of the people who caused this entire war.”

“Last standing member? Her parents are still alive, Prax.”

“Not for long.” Gramorr lifted his hand slowly. “If you will not do it yourself, then move aside.”

Mephisto froze for a second, eyes fixating on Gramorr’s hand, on the power there.

His jaw set and he turned to look at Iris.

She looked so small, pink hair soaked through with streaks of red and breathing beginning to get labored. He had no doubt that her back was bruised badly as well, if not broken in some place. One of her wrists was at an odd angle, the glove torn. She’d been snapped out of her shanila, now just in her magical form.

When Praxina got into trouble and he needed help, she’d always stood up for him.

When the other princesses insisted Praxina stay with them after she lost her memory, Iris realized what she’d done and gave his sister a choice.

Every time he’d seen her, she chose the selfless option. She was constantly hurting herself in the process, losing her time and her chances to do what she wanted to help people. Yes there had been the rewards of the oracle gems, but that wasn’t it.

His hand tightens around her shoulder. She squeaks through her subconscious, in so much pain.

Mephisto bends lower. He can hear Praxina’s teeth grinding in anger, trying to figure out what he’s doing.

He pulls the princess into his lap, her dead weight both easy and hard to pull into his chest.

“Don’t kill her.” He replies firmly.

“Mephisto! Drop the princess. What are you doing?”

That was a good question.

“She’s still useful to us.” Is what he manages.

Praxina blinks at him.

“She’s the Princess of Ephedia, the last of her bloodline.” Mephisto adds.

Banes growls.

“Whatever you think is to be gained by killing her, you lose tenfold in access and knowledge.” He grits out. It’s partially a lie. He knows some books and passages that require royal blood be spilled to enter, and only Iris was able to.

“Kill her parents, whatever you need to do, but we need her.” Mephisto pulls her closer, until he can hold her bridal style, and stands slowly.

Gramorr seems to regard him for a moment.

“You want the princess alive?” He asks slowly.

“We need her.” Mephisto repeats.

“Hmph. Fine then.” Gramorr lowers his hand. “Then consider yourself lucky, Mephisto. The Crown Princess, your personal slave. Keep her close, her actions WILL be your responsibility.”

Mephisto isn’t sure what response is more accurate:

Iris’ pained whimper,

His nervous gulp,

Or Praxina’s furious narrowing of her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The princess would have to be awake and healed by her parents’ execution date.

That was the ultimatum Gramorr gave when Mephisto began to head to healers, menacing and full of finality.

It was cruel, as his evilness so often was, but it was understandable. The people of the capital were invited to come in a fortnight to greet their new ruler and see the end of the Halphas line.

Thousands of years had stretched, mother passing the crown to daughter and then repeating the cycle. Iris was the last of a line of Queens, ancient power and bloodlust so deeply set in her bones that he was surprised she was such an honestly good person.

He and Praxina had been four when Gramorr revolted against the Queen, leading an attack on the castle and imprisoning her. They didn’t remember it well, not at all, but the little princess, so young, she’d been the talk of the century. Where was she, what was she doing, what kind of person was she?

His father had sat them down once, told them of the old Queen. She was a brutal woman with a kind face, fierce and unrelenting and dangerous. Her husband, the kind Borealin turned king of the capital, he’d deserved better, but he stood by his wife through the end. Papa had told them that, wistfully circling his finger around the mouth of his glass, talking of a time long past.

And here Mephisto was, holding Iris’ hand as she tosses and turns in her sleep.

She’d been very badly injured. He wouldn’t have expected her to survive, but the healers cuffed him upside the back of his head and reminded him that she was much stronger than he thought she was.

And they were right, of course. He was just scared for her.

The news of her survival was kept quiet. For now Gramorr wanted it to be a surprise, or perhaps wanted to quell any hopes of rebellion. He was willing to meet with the other leaders, let them govern under his strict ruling, but if the princess was alive and they knew about it? They’d insist that she was the rightful ruler, unite, fight back, do something against him.

Iris looked so small on that bed. They’d bandaged her head when magic wouldn’t keep the cuts closed and clean, and she had several very bad gashes on her shoulders, upper arms, and back. She’d hit the rocks headfirst, and the healers had made sure to warn him that there was a chance she, coming out of the encounter, wouldn’t be the same.

No shit.

Mephisto leaned forward, slowly resting his head on his arms and letting himself take a short break. He’d hardly slept, so sure that someone would come in if he tried and kill her anyways.

By the Melzors, what had he gotten himself into?

A chilly hand slots itself over his shoulder, squeezing gently. Mephisto sighs.

“I don’t know what you were thinking.” Praxina begins quietly. “I don’t understand you right now. We could have been rid of her. She’s done so much to us that I cannot forgive. Why did you save her?”

“When we lose our standards, we stop being worthy of living.” He whispers.

“What was that?” Praxina’s frown was loud and clear in her voice, even without him looking at her.

Still though, he sits up slowly. “If we kill her while she’s defenseless, then we’re no better than her mother. Than Gramorr. Than the Sky Captains. Than rabid animals roaming, starving and snapping angrily.” He looked the princess in the bed over. Her magical transformation had faded as well, leaving a mountain of blonde and too much free skin exposed.

“She is part of the problem, Mephisto. She wasn’t defenseless, she was dangerous. You wouldn’t look at a sleeping spider and think to give it a chance to bite, you wouldn’t give her a chance to doublecross you. In doing this you’ve put both of us at risk.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He mutters, looking towards the tall windows.

“What was that?”

“I said it doesn’t feel like it.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Praxina uses her magic to pull a chair forward, sitting heavily next to him.

“You helped defeat the princesses last night. I stood and watched. He’s always favored you, only acknowledging your achievements. If either of us takes the fall for her, it won’t be you.”

“Especially not since you acted alone.” She closed her eyes. “Couldn’t you have warned me?”

“I didn’t have any time. The world… it didn’t feel complete in that moment. You and Gramorr defeated the princesses, all I could do was watch. She didn’t feel like she was dead. I… I don’t know how I know, but I did, Prax.”

“I thought she was dead the second she hit the ground and didn’t get up. She’s a hardy little princess, she always bounces back.”

“Well this time she’s crawling back. You really did almost kill her, Praxina.”

She’s quiet for a moment. They both look at the princess.

“When we were fighting her, did you ever notice how small she was?” His sister asks, offering him a hand.

He takes it gently. “I did.”

“Did you ever think that we’d get here?”

“I don’t know. I tried not to think about the future much, especially when I didn’t know what it would bring. I just held onto hope that Gramorr would honor his promise of a reward, and that it would make everything else worth it.”

“We’re being promoted to his generals. Us over all others.” She cracked a smile. 

“You’re being promoted. I’m likely going to stay here, guiding the castle guards and watching over Iris.”

Praxina tutted at him. “Be more adventurous. Why not try to do it all with me? I’ll do the harder part, getting the soldiers in line, and you’ll be the one with the princess. We’re a pair to be envious of, brother.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Perhaps. But for now… I need to focus on the princess. She’s hurt badly, and in two weeks she’ll have to watch her parents die.”

Praxina looked away.

They were both remembering the same thing.

“I… I think I will go for now.” Her fingers slip from his. “Update me on her condition. And please, warn me the next time you do something stupid.”

Mephisto can’t help the smile playing at his lips. “Will do.”

And with that, she leaves.

The healing ward is always so silent.

He remembers when they were younger, thirteen Earth years at most, fresh to the training and to this castle. They’d been sparring, as Gramorr had ordered, and Praxina accidentally hurt him.

The silence had bored into his soul then, and if it weren’t for Iris’ sometimes labored breathing, he’s sure he’d go mad with the wait.

The world seems to still.

Just his heart, beating slowly in his chest.

Just Iris, breathing weakly in the bed.

Just his hands, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Just her hair, spun gold spread over the pillows behind her head.

Just his lips, darkened from the nervous tic he’d picked up of biting them.

Just her eyelashes, fluttering gently.

Mephisto breathes out slowly.

Iris turns her head to the side and groans, her fingers twitching.

He sits up straight, suddenly alert and attuned to her actions. 

She turns her head a few more times before groaning louder and trying to sit up, sinking further into the soft bed.

He reaches out to help her, and her hands latch onto his biceps with a claws-in death grip, eyes suddenly wide with terror.

She blinks once. Twice. Three times.

Her lips begin to wobble and her hands shake. Mephisto, stuck in the position, swallows.

“I…” She croaks, then coughs weakly. “I can’t-“

Mephisto pulls back an arm, shushing her, reaching for the glass of water that’d been awaiting on the bedside table. “It’s alright, calm down, here, drink this.”

He presses the glass to her lips and she opens them obediently, eyes staring forward.

It’s unnerving, what once was so pretty just… blank. He doesn’t understand, but he’s sure it’s part of how she’s processing the trauma.

She hits his arm when she can’t drink anymore, and he pulls the glass back to set on the table. He finds himself sitting on the bed next to her, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I… I can’t...” She turns her head into his hand then away, blinking again and looking around wildly. Something in his stomach moves to lodge itself in his throat.

“Can’t remember?”

“I can’t see!”

The sudden wail is loud, piercing, heartbreaking.

She begins panicking, tears making their way from the eyes that he now understands, the kind eyes that he can’t believe he didn’t value more before.

“Iris, Iris, calm down.” He caught her hands. “I can explain what happened, calm down.”

She sucked in a breath. “Mephisto?”

He winced. “Yes.”

“Where’s Talia and Auriana? Where are we? Where am I? What- what about Nathaniel? What happened to the oracle gem?”

“Talia and Auriana aren’t here. We’re on Ephedia in the castle. Your smoothie human is on earth, and the oracle gem… is in the crown, which is currently in Gramorr’s hands.”

She seemed to stare at him.

“Iris, you lost.”

“Why am I here.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Gramorr was going to kill you.” Mephisto admitted. She pulled her hands from his.

“Why stop him?”

That was harder.

Mephisto sighs. It’s a lot to think about.

She patted her leg twice, taking a deep breath and waiting for him. “Well?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t just watch you die. Alright?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know!”

She flinches, but he can see that she’s still angry. “Why can’t I see.”

“I don’t know. You were very badly injured in the battle, you have cuts all along your back and your arms. And your head. I can have the healers look at them, but I don’t think there’s anything to be done.”

Iris runs a hand down her chest and stomach, then cups her own cheek. Her eyes close, even though he knows the motion is useless now.

“This is it, huh. You won.” She whispers.

“Yes.” He nods. “We did.”

“After all of that, everything I did, everything I learned… it was all for nothing.”

“You were holding your own until Praxina stepped in, I could tell.” He didn’t want her to start down that defeatist track, though he doesn’t know what he’s doing, where this is going. “You might have been able to do it”

“But I didn’t. And I couldn’t. And now I’m here.”

He sighed.

“So what does he have planned?”

Mephisto hums. “Well, he… he’s trusting me to… take care of you.”

“He’s doing what?”

“I’m in charge of you, Iris. I saved you, so you’re my job now.”

She snorted, covering her mouth. “I can’t believe this.”

Mephisto turned to glance down the hall to where the healers were, lifting two fingers to beckon them.

He won’t tell her about her parents yet.

That can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh just wanted to add!! The name halphas is pronounced "hal-faz" not "half-a's" if that makes sense  
> Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was… dark.

Well, duh, but still.

She zones back in, finding it hard to concentrate on the information overloading her system. The sounds are too sharp and harsh, the bed is too prickly and too soft at the same time, grating against her skin.

She wants to stand up.

She wants to run.

She wants to escape.

She swallows and digs her nails into her wrist.

“We will do some research, but as far as I know… we cannot do anything.” The woman finishes the thought just in time. Iris nods slowly.

Mephisto is there. His hand is on hers, too intimate, too close, overwhelming and calloused and big, but without it she’d be lost in a sea of blackness.

Ha ha.

“Thank you. Keep me updated. Is she free to go?” His voice cuts through her thoughts again, and she can’t help but tip her head back, resting it against the headboard.

“I can’t do anything else right now. Bring her to me first thing each morning until I say so to check bandages, and keep her clothing backless until the bandages are off to check for bleeding.”

“That’ll get cold quickly.” Iris mutters to herself. She’d felt some kind of fabric covering her chest before, but she isn’t sure what. Her whole body hurts, so it’s not easy to narrow down specific sensations. Her wrist felt like it was on fire, her head was a dull ache, and each cut felt like it’d been salted, garnished with lemon, then had vodka poured in for good measure.

There’s footsteps as the healer leaves, then they’re alone.

“Do you want to eat something?”

Her stomach rumbles in response, even though she feels quite sick. “Is there soup on Ephedia?”

He laughs, and there’s noise. His hand feels like it moves a bit, and his other hand finds hers, the one that hurts. She tugs it out of his grip, and he puts his hand on her elbow instead. She relents and leans forward, then pauses.

The world is unknown. Other than where things touch her skin, she’s lost.

Her lip begins to tremble again, her shoulders hunching up. How was she going to do this?

“Hey, hey, Iris. Calm down, I’m not going to let you fall.” His voice is a soft tone, not hurried at all, and she suddenly feels angry again.

“Why do you suddenly care? What’s in it for you?” Iris wrenches herself out of his grip, grabbing the blanket to pull up and drape over her shoulders, feeling exposed suddenly.

“There isn’t anything in it for me. I’m just trying to help, don’t get mad at me. Come on, let me help.”

She shook her head. “Why should I trust you? When have you ever wanted to help me before? You’re not on my side, we’re not friends, you’re just someone who’s been trying to hurt me for the last year and a half.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He sighed and there was a noise, she thinks it was the creaking of the chair, but she doesn’t know. She can’t know.

“I’m not saying you should immediately trust me, but right now I’m the only one in this castle looking out for you.”

Iris closed her eyes. Tears prickled at them, unbidden but unrelenting.

“You don’t want this? Neither do I. I want you to be safe, I want you to be alright, and I want you not to have to cry every time you let your mind run wild for a moment. You lost, alright, get over it. Let me help you, hate me if you want, and move on.”

“You’re speaking very confidently for someone with all the power.” She snaps. “I’m blind, I’m in pain, and I’m on a planet I don’t know the first thing about. Step into my shoes.”

“I may not know your feelings on being blind, but I’ve been on a planet I don’t know. I’ve been in pain, I’ve been scared, and I’ve been angry.” Mephisto took her hand again, so stubbornly insistent. A frustrated tear escapes despite Iris’ hatred of it, of herself, of how useless she feels.

“I hate you.” She whispers.

Her stomach growls, hurting worse. Maybe it’s the hunger that’s forcing her stomach to roll into itself, knead itself, to cause a tsunami inside her gut. She aches, starting to feel lightheaded.

“Get in line.”

Iris swallows and snatches her hand from his. She’ll starve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise the feels will get worse before they get better <3


	4. Chapter 4

The dining room had been cold and full of echoes. Mephisto could tell Iris was disgruntled and that she hated it, and he didn’t blame her but it didn’t make his life any easier. She’d taken a fitful nap, clearly in a lot of pain from how she tossed about, before she finally gave in and allowed him to help her up again.

Stomachs satiated, Mephisto led her through the castle, his hand on her lower back and her eyebrows knit together, one hand cradling the other.

It was slow going, but that’d been expected. She was injured and the castle was large.

Mephisto wasn’t sure what she wanted. Did he narrate where they were, or did he let her be on her own? She wouldn’t remember her way no matter what, so it wasn’t like the information would help. But still, he guides her gently, steering her out of the way of people walking or to the left or the right.

After a while he pauses, glancing at her. She takes a half step after he pauses, then pats to her left until she finds his arm, holding onto it.

“Why are we stopped?”

“You’re going to need clothing.”

She sighed. “Duh.”

“I know a tailor, he’s just a floor down and…” He counted with his fingers on his free hand, then shrugged. “He’s a floor down.”

“Well, you have the reigns so.” Iris held her hands up, shrugging. Her eyes were open, but it wasn’t like that was helpful for her.

He suddenly missed how she used to look at him.

Confident, full of laughter and righteous rage, eyes bright and focused.

If he were stupid, he’d resent Gramorr for this. Instead he swallows, rubs her back gently and guides her back the way they’d came, towards the staircase.

She was beautiful. The infirmary had provided a loose fabric shirt for her, weird and with a tie in the back, as well as a pair of pants with loose ankles, but there were no shoes. Iris was a picture in it, her hair loose and tangled and stained, bandages everywhere, eyes straight forward, then the crisp and unfeeling white of the shirt and dark blue of the pants. Not her colors, but still interesting.

The steps are interesting but they make it down without any accidents, her bottom lip wobbling traitorously and Mephisto so focused, so concerned with each movement of her bare feet.

When they’re back in the halls of the next floor down, Mephisto sighs into the buzzing silence between them.

“Looking for something to say?” Iris guessed.

“Is it obvious?”

“Very.”

He can’t help but laugh once at that. Of all the things for her to have picked up about him, his nervous ticks felt about right.

“I know you’re not… doing well.” He starts.

“Obviously.”

“But when we get to the room, I do have something I have to tell you.”

The silence this time is a curious one, her eyebrows furrowed again.

“Ah, left here.” He guides her, almost having to backtrack. Such a small, hard to see turn. It made sense considering the man they were going to see, but still. His heart is still in his throat over the information, but he tries to stifle it. Iris couldn’t be told about her parents where anyone could see her break down, even he wasn’t terrible enough to do that.

“What is it? Couldn’t you have told me earlier?” Iris asks, tone rising. 

Mephisto pulls his hand from her back to spread the bead curtain over the doorway. “Straight ahead Iris, uh, like ten steps.”

She shook slightly as she took ten carefully measured steps, ending in the foyer of the royal tailor’s domain.

“Iris, welcome to Mavrin’s home. He was your parent’s tailor, Gramorr let him stay here because he’s relatively harmless.”

She’d shrunk into herself without him touching her, so he cups her elbow, giving her an anchor.

“Relatively harmless?”

The little man came out of the back, ducking under a half-fallen bookshelf with a cackle. “Mephisto my boy! Back for a new uniform? Your sister was here first thing this morning, bragging about the position!”

The room was an explosion of color and fabric. How the little man found anything, Mephisto would never be able to guess. He simply made amazing clothing, sturdy and light and comfortable and safe. Everything he’d worn from the man had been too strong to rip and too resistant to stain, more impervious than he was.

Mephisto moved his hand and stood behind Iris instead, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Actually I’m here for someone else. Mavrin! Meet-“

“Princess Izabela?” He guessed, coming closer with his eyes squinted and peering closely. “My, I don’t forget a face, and that’s a beautiful face.”

Iris hunched her shoulders, half stepping back towards Mephisto. “I- how do you know that name? I don’t go by that anymore.”

“Ah! But you used to. Before you remembered. Such cute cheeks, you liked when people tugged on them. A cute laugh!” He turned and laughed himself, the sound much less charming from someone with hair sticking out of his head like a yarn doll that’s been tossed into a static storm.

Iris half turned to look at Mephisto, but he couldn’t do anything other than shrug, then wince when he realized she couldn’t see it.

He hadn’t even known that name.

“So what brings you!” Mavrin yells, tape measure already in hand. “A uniform? A wedding gown? Something stylish?”

“Actually,” Mephisto interjected. “A whole wardrobe. It’s Iris’ first time on Ephedia,” he may have been embellishing on that point. “And she’s never gotten to experience fashion from here before. And you’re the only person I trust to make anything.”

Mavrin looked between him and Iris, then beamed so wide it had to hurt his face. “A project! A project! It’s been so long since I had one of those!”

He’s immediately holding his measuring tape against Iris, whispering the numbers so they can float by his head in pale teal magic. He jumps onto crystal construct steps to get all of them, maneuvering Iris as he needed and ignoring any protests.

Mephisto made sure to keep a hand on Iris at all times, worrying from the wobble in her bottom lip that she’d start crying again.

And soon enough Mavrin is done, the cloud of numbers around his head clouding his vision.

“Any particular colors?” He calls as he disappears where he’d first appeared from.

Mephisto stepped closer to Iris, hand on her lower back again. “Uh… Pink, purple, gold, white, black…. And green.”

Iris furrowed her eyebrows.

He had the sudden urge to kiss her forehead, but swallowed it, ruffling her hair instead.

She winced and he wanted to feel bad. Instead he just murmured “Sorry” and half turned, leading her into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for what i do next chapter~  
> i have 5 written and until 10 planned out, so this'll be fun!! for me, not for y'all.


	5. Chapter 5

His door closes with a firm snap, the room feeling undisturbed, just as he left it, somehow embarrassing.

Iris can’t see any of it.

Her lip had wobbled all the way up the stairs and into the hall, but there was nothing he could do except whisk her faster, praying to the Melzors that she didn’t trip.

“This is my room.” He announces, uselessly.

Iris’ hand wobbles too as she steps forward, out of his hands.

Why was he at such a loss for how to handle this?

Everything was such a mess.

She pats the air in front of her gently and shuffles very slowly, no doubt trying to find something without his help. After a moment she stands up straight and her shoulders slump.

Her lip wobbles again.

Mephisto steps closer, and she half turns towards him.

“Where’s somewhere I can sit?”

He glances around quickly, then takes her hands. “Okay, uh. Here.” He leads her forwards to the bed, moving the few scattered pieces of paper, long lost remnants of his dreadful attempts at poetry and songwriting, out of the way. “Just behind you.”

She manages to settle in without his help, touching the bed gently.

“It’s… Is it like beds on Earth?” She asks, eyes on her hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, does it have… pillows and things? Sheets and comforters?”

Mephisto nodded, then winced. Klatznik, he needed to stop that.

“Uh, yes. Towards the top. Behind you.”

She scoots back on the bed, patting each time before she moves to make sure she wouldn’t fall. He wants to speak, to reassure her that the bed were bigger than that, but he’s sure that would anger her or upset her further. He can’t handle that, so he keeps his mouth shut.

When Iris finds a pillow, one of the ones he tends to throw off the bed or throw to the side at night, she lays on her back and presses the soft fabric to her face.

And that is when she screams.

The sound is muffled by the fabric, but that doesn’t stop the wince of pain at the sudden noise. He can’t blame her, though.

She pulls the pillow back and steals another deep breath, then presses her face to it again, screaming louder.

Mephisto uses his magic to pull a chair close and sit down, not wanting to get into her space. He also crumples his old poetry into a ball and tosses it across the room, it bouncing off a bookshelf that he was still amazed Gramorr had allowed him to fill with texts and scrolls.

Iris rolled onto her stomach, holding the pillow to her face. She looked so small, tucking herself into a ball around his pillow, her shoulders knit together tightly enough for the bandages to wrinkle and pucker.

After a second of holding the position tightly, Iris relaxes, soft sniffling sounds beginning.

He almost doesn’t understand what she’s doing for a moment, but then she takes a deep, wrecked breath.

“Are you… crying?” He whispers.

Iris sniffles.

“What… Uh, that’s a stupid question. I shouldn’t ask what I did. This is… today is a lot. You are dealing with a lot.” He nodded once, curtly, suddenly so unsure how to actually handle this. Prax, when emotional, liked to throw things at him. Should he shield his head? Would she even know where to aim the projectiles?

“Yes.” Iris moved so that she was cuddling the pillow to her chest instead of her face. “I’m crying. It’s your fault.”

Huh.

Mephisto takes a breath.

“Alright. What did I do? Specifically?”

“You told that man to make me clothing.” She takes a breath of her own, her lip still wobbling. “I… don’t you realize why that’s cruel?”

He glances her over. “You need to wear something, leaving you in the infirmary’s spares is much more cruel than anything Mavrin could think up.”

She took the pillow, sitting up, and threw it in the direction of his voice. “That’s not the point!”

She was off by about three inches. He felt the whoosh of air by his ear. “What is the point?”

“I can’t see!” She lifts her hands to bury them in her bangs, covering her face. “I can’t see and I can’t see them and I hate this and I hate you!”

Mephisto bends to pick up the pillow, holding it. “I know.”

“This…” She pulls her hands forward and lets them rest in her lap. “This is torture. I’m trapped in the castle, and I’m stuck with you.”

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to rub it in, princess.”

“I don’t have anyone else, Mephisto.” She swallows. “I’m alone.”

Her lip begins to wobble again, a wounded tone coming into her voice. “I’m alone and I’m going to die here, aren’t I?”

This was too much to take.

“Oh-“ She sniffed once. “Uh, you um, you had something you were going to tell me? Here, add insult to injury. What is it?”

Mephisto bit his lip.

To tell her or not to, that was the true question.

Mephisto dug his nails into the pillow.

“Is… is that blood on your hands?” He replies, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know, is it?” She retorts.

He rolls his eyes and moves closer, taking her hand. She jerks at the touch and pulls her hand away, but he pulls it towards him more sharply, ignoring her for a moment. Her lip wobbles worse.

“That’s…” He frowns and glances up at her face. “Klatznik, your hair is bleeding!”

She doesn’t move, but he lets her wrist go to move her bangs out of the way, to squint at her forehead where the smeared trickle begins.

“My hair is bleeding?” She asks quietly. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you had a cut there from the fall…” He winces. “Looks painful.”

“Everything’s painful.”

Mephisto glances her over, realizing how close he is. Just a breath away, leaning into her space with a hand on her forehead and the other bracing himself on the bed…

He pulls back slightly, his heart hammering.

“About that.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I… uh… Your parents…”

Her whole face lit up. “My parents?”

He couldn’t tell her.

“I…. can… uh….” He licked his lips quickly, looking away. “I can take you to meet them.”

Iris’ smile was heartbreaking.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.”

He couldn’t let the first time she heard her parent’s voice be as they were dying.

In Old Times, executions of this political magnitude were carried out with a Melzah crystal being swallowed, then the… gore being cleaned up after the display was finished. The crystals were aptly named, as they’d been used on the Melzors and become famous that way.

How fitting for them to be used again on the last Halphas mother. The last of the Melzor line, other than the beaming blonde sitting before him.

Mephisto takes her hand.

“Of course I can do that for you.”

She moves forward to throw her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “I... I can’t thank you enough. How soon can we go to them?”


	6. Chapter 6

Mephisto had insisted that she sleep before he take her to see her parents. Iris would be the first to admit she was exhausted, but the disappointment of having her parents be waved in front of her face like a consolation prize for listening to him was almost greater than the excitement bubbling under her skin at finally see-

Oh.

Iris tucked her chin into the pillow.

That’s right.

She couldn’t let that get in her way, though. She’d waited eighteen years to meet them again, and the way her heart thrummed in her chest at the thought was enough reason to pull through the fear, the anger of not being able to physically see them.

Gramorr had offered, over and over, chance after chance for her to see them. She’d turned him down because the consequences weighed much more than the benefits, but part of her couldn’t help but to feel like this was her own fault. She finally got the chance to meet them, but she was blind. Her eyes would never fall upon their faces and they’d have to live knowing that their only daughter not only failed to save them but was now failing to even see them. Her heart clawed its way to nestle in her throat, nervous nausea that was excited too.

She sat, awake, for a while- she had no way to pass the time- until Mephisto’s steady breathing across the room startles awake and he sits up, the low hum of a magic circle appearing until he takes a deep breath and it disappears.

He must have had bad dreams, too.

“You’re awake.” His voice comes, from a different place than where he’d slept. He’d let her take the bed and told her that he’d take the ‘kebbah’, which she hoped translated to ‘couch’ but wasn’t sure. Either way, he hadn’t been next to her, and she was grateful for the space.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She explains.

“Well, I hope you’re well rested.” There’s something weary in his tone, the ruffling of fabrics. Her eyebrows furrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, changing my shirt. I’m tired of wearing the same thing all the time.”

Her heart thumps harder, and she can’t help but sharply turn her head to the side. He sighs.

“I can let you feel it, I guess? It doesn’t have sleeves. It’s more casual. More comfortable. Dark gray.” His footsteps get louder, closer, and the bed dips in front of her.

His hand goes to touch her hand, the one that hurts so badly, and she pulls it away.

“Why do you keep doing that? I’m not going to hurt you.” His frustration is tired, soft, tangible.

“It does hurt.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My wrist, I think it’s sprained. And you keep grabbing it.” Iris offers the hand that doesn’t hurt, hand shaking in the open space. “Okay? Stop touching the other one.”

There’s a soft sigh.

“I forgot. That’s my fault.” His hand takes hers again, the one that actually can be taken, and he guides it forward.

He places it on his shoulder, she’s pretty sure, the right one closest to her. There’s the edge of the fabric where it meets his sleep-warm skin, a line of stitching with some kind of swirl?

Her lips open slightly and her eyes close as she presses her fingers over the fabric. It’s sturdy, sure, but soft, with soft lines running through it. She follows his shoulder to find the collar of it, the dip of his throat, the top button where the shirt met in the middle.

Mephisto takes a deep, shaky breath. She trails her fingers down the line of buttons.

Around where she thinks his belly button might be- if Ephedians have those, she’d never asked the girls about that- his hand slowly covers hers.

“That enough?”

She wants to either laugh or cry, and the difference between the two isn’t as clear as it once was.

“It’s a nice shirt.”

“Thank you.”

Iris pulls her hand back, pulling a pillow into her lap.

“Your room smells stuffy.”

“It hasn’t been used in about six years.”

“Six years? Why so long?”

“Well, there was the two following Auriana and Talia searching for you on Earth, then the four fighting you.”

Iris blinked. “Four years fighting me? What are you talking about, we only fought for a year.”

He laughs. “No, trust me. We wouldn’t have minded fighting you for a year, Iris. We were on Earth for four years.”

She shook her head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. I turned eighteen last year-“

He snorted. “Eighteen? Iris, you’re nearly 56.”

Her mouth opened. “What? Are you kidding me?? Do I look that old to you?”

He laughed. “Praxina and I are 61. Your friends? Talia was 59, 60, around there, and Auriana was 58.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Years on Ephedia are very short…”

She blinked. “Wait, how short?”

“Like, I think one of your Earth years is three of our years? Or something.”

There’s the sound of fabric shuffling, and she thinks that he’s shrugging.

Iris sighs and puts her face in her hands. “You were freaking me out for a second there.”

“What?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Nothing. Come on, take me to meet my parents.”

“What? No, not like that.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

“If you could see yourself-“ There’s a pause, and she has to believe that he’s kicking himself for his poor word choice. “I mean. Ugh, you know what I mean, princess. You’re filthy. Your hair is thick with blood and dust, and your whole body is covered in dirt and bruises. Do you really want to meet your mother, the Queen, looking like a peasant who got caught between a Sky Pirate attack and a bandit raid?”

Iris couldn’t comprehend the latter part of what he was saying, but she sighed and relented. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

“Well, a bath for one. I can borrow one of Praxina’s dresses for you, she has some backless things that are smaller in her closet. She never throws anything out.” He laughs, and Iris wishes that she could join him.

“And shoes?”

“And shoes.”

She sighs in relief.

“Floors in this castle are like, super cold.” She tells him.

He laughs. “I know.”

His laughter was something she’d grown to hate over the year of fighting him, but she couldn’t deny that the sound was better right now. If she let herself dwell on her situation she’d feel sick, but in the moment she can’t deny that he’s doing a good job of trying to keep her mind off of everything. It wasn’t like he’d personally blinded her or like he was responsible for her situation.

He was a bright light in a dark time, and she should honestly give him a bit more credit…

But not too much.

He was still on the other side of the war, and she’d lost. Who was to say his good mood would last?

If his temper got out of hand, she’s hardly be able to do much to protect herself. She couldn’t see where she was aiming, and so many spells depended on knowing where you were shooting them. Defensive spells, protection spells, anything that had been so necessary in the past but was now the only life lines.

He was being nice now, but if anything went wrong?

Iris swallowed.

“I can get the bath ready, and I can go steal that dress from Prax.” His tone is still light, even though her stomach is now rolling in on itself with anxiety.

“Alright.” She turned her head, sighing. “Then we can go meet my parents?”

“Then we have to visit the Healers to redo your bandages, then we can go.” He amends.

“Can’t we go before then?”

“And risk them getting angry with me?” He snorts. “No chance. But we will go. I promise.”

There’s something in his voice, and Iris wants to call him out on it.

She takes a deep breath.

“Where’s this bath?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE 3 MONTHS BUT IN MY DEFENSE I'VE BEEN ASDF SO BUSY  
> basically i lost my summer job, was unemployed + writing a SHIT TON for a month or two, then got a new job in october. or late september? can't remember anymore now, but around then. then i wasn't in an lr mood for a while, so even tho i was writing it wasn't for the dragon's hoard i've got going! anyways, let me know how y'all like this, i'll try to update better, or atleast leave y'all at a better stopping place when i next lose motivation ;)
> 
> comments fuel me! also js they're the highest form of a compliment, doesn't matter what they say, they're the best thing an author can get on their works. thank you for reading this far!


	7. Chapter 7

The healers replaced every bandage that’d gotten wet in the bath and added a new one for the cut on her scalp that they’d missed the day before. They gave her a slim crystal-backed brace for her aching wrist and spoke quietly with Mephisto as if she couldn’t hear what they were saying.

The dress was very comfortable. It was a bit cold on the back, but it was hard to deny it wasn’t nice. Big sleeves and a fluffy skirt that felt like it was floating around her legs. There were two parts where it tied to keep the open back closed around her torso, and the healers used cold fingers to untie them.

She’d shivered.

Iris bit her lip and let her hair down from the bun that Mephisto had put it in while it dried to keep her back from getting wet. It did feel much better to not have the grime coating her skin and soaking into her pores, making her feel worse than she needed to. Her hair was still damp, but it was now light and soft. Her skin was smooth and still sore from the bruises, and her cheeks were dusted with some kind of powder- Mephisto hadn’t explained, she should have asked- and her feet were finally protected from the chill.

Mephisto’s hand catches her own.

“Ready?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak around the healers. If she said the wrong thing and they were caught, it was clear that it wasn’t just her shoulders the punishment would rest on.

It was becoming easier to identify the boy’s hand when it touched her own, the callouses becoming familiar. He’d tended towards not wearing gloves since she’d lost her sight, perhaps expecting that she’d need help adjusting. Perhaps he just didn’t like gloves.

He didn’t explain. She didn’t ask.

They head out into the hallway, the murmurs of the healers disappearing with the crisp noise of the door shutting. She was getting more acquainted with the castle’s setup, but it still wasn’t enough.

Mephisto led her through, presumably to the dungeons or wherever it was her parents were kept. He was infuriatingly silent and the world around her was devoid of clues. Well, the world was full of clues but she wasn’t experienced enough to understand them.

Praxina’s dress was comfortable. It was easy to forget it, but the soft fabric swirled and pooled around her thighs with every movement, distractedly loud and annoyingly fluffy. He’d mentioned it was red, like Auriana’s hair almost, and Iris had merely stared in the direction she thought he was in.

What she wouldn’t give to be with her friends right now.

Nevertheless, they creep up some stairs and he guides her with his hand on her back, the steps feeling as daunting as Mount Everest without her sight. If it weren’t for the slight pressure on her back, the torturously slow pace they took, she was sure she’d be frozen where she started.

Yes, it was pathetic, but she was tired and she was hurting and she wasn’t ready for this.

Funny, right? Eighteen years and when the moment comes to meet her parents…

Her heart pounded in the back of her throat.

She wouldn’t make it, would she?

“The stairs just ended, Iris.” Mephisto’s voice comes. She sets her foot down gently, shuffling forward until she’s satisfied that she won’t accidentally trip.

“How much farther?” Iris asks, stepping in his direction to hide from the unusual chill. Were the upper floors of the castle usually this drafty? His room had been much lower.

“They’re at the end of this hall, then a left. We may have to speak to a guard to get in.” Mephisto explained.

She nodded. Their footsteps echoed differently here, feeling louder and heavier. The world itself depended on whether or not she’d be allowed to see them, so it made sense that the world around them echoed her feelings.

“I must warn you…”

She blinked.

He sighed.

“They’re not like how you expect them to be.”

“I don’t have any expectations.”

She hears him snort. “That’s a lie. I didn’t know princesses lied.”

Iris rolled her eyes and patted up his arm until she could find his shoulder so she could slap it.

“Of course princesses lie.”

“Because there’s a lot to lie about?”

“Because we’re people too.”

He hums, they turn a corner.

“Well, little liar, we’re in luck. No guard right now.”

She can’t help the sigh of relief.

When they reach the door he mutters something she doesn’t catch, the thrum of his magic circle a loud buzz that she couldn’t ignore.

The locks click.

Iris swallows.

“They’re on the other side of that door?”

“There’s a cell inside the room. Enough space for us to stand, then a big row of bars, and them on the other side. We’re in one of the taller towers right now, likely to discourage them from escaping due to the… well, you can imagine that height would be daunting and wouldn’t exactly encourage breaking through the wall.”

Iris couldn’t help but imagine it, her mental picture supplying her parents jumping from the building.

“I understand.”

He guides her through the doorway, the temperature immediately dropping.

Inside the room the floor is more uneven, her feet catching on the cracks between the bricks and making it harder to keep her balance. The smell is sharper too, shifting from the soft, almost pleasant vanilla scent of the rest of the castle to something harsh and angry. Had a smell ever come across as angry before? In this tower it did. There was nothing sweet about it, just bitter and harsh and attacking her nose.

Mephisto rubbed her back comfortingly, helping her forward the next two steps.

“King Chen and Queen Mora,” He announces.

Iris wonders why she never got to know their names before.

“My boy, it’s been a long time since we saw your face.” A voice speaks, familiar- she’d heard it once, when Lev tricked her- and she recognizes that it must be her father. “What brings you to us?”

“Me.” Iris blurts out. One of her hands moves to pat her hair nervously, making sure it doesn’t look silly. “I’m… it’s me.”

There’s a hum from inside the cell, not her father, but more melodic. “Me? Who is ‘me’?”

Iris could feel herself blushing.

Mephisto’s hand was still there. He was still there for her.

“Your majesty,” He says, voice too clear as he pronounces it. Too careful. “Your daughter, the princess.”

“Izabela?” Her father asks, suddenly excited.

It was still weird to hear that name after so long, but Iris nods. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Come closer so I can get a look at you! You’ve grown so much since the last time I held you…” Her father’s voice sounds closer, and there’s a metallic sound as if he were holding onto the bars. “You’re so beautiful, my daughter, it’s been so long.”

Iris took a step forward, then froze when Mephisto stayed where he was. She reached back and found his wrist, pulling him forward with her.

They’d been enemies for so long, but right now she needed a lifeline.

He follows after she tugs for a moment, stepping with her to the bars. She’d lifted a hand to catch when the bars would be there, and she’s lucky enough to touch one.

Footsteps.

A hand, calloused and rough with age, cups her own.

“My beautiful daughter,” she can hear the pride in her father’s voice. “What happened? Are you safe? Did Ellira raise you well?”

Iris nodded slowly. “Aunt Ell- uh, Ellira, was great. She took care of me. I’m fine. Well, I’m… mostly fine.”

How could she tell them that she’d failed?

“Let me guess.” The voice, that melodic voice, she assumed it was her mother’s, comes from further inside the cell. “You failed me.”

Iris closes her eyes. A useless gesture, but the only thing she can do.

“Mora!” Her father chided. “We finally get to reunite with our daughter, and that’s the only thing you have to say? Please, child, don’t take it to heart. She’s just frustrated.”

“Don’t talk over me, Chen.” Her mother growls, accompanied by the sounds of fabric shifting over the bricks. Iris thinks that she might be standing, but she was definitely moving. “Did you fail me or not, you spoiled little brat?”

Iris’ breath hitched. “I- what? I…”

“Answer me!” Her mother snaps. There’s more sounds and fabric shifting over the stones, definitely coming closer. “Why are you here with Gramorr’s lackey, not on your own? And why do you look so stupid?”

Iris’ father’s hand tightens over her own.

“I…” She felt tears welling up. This wasn’t what she wanted. “I failed.”

Her father pets her hand, making calming shushing noises. “It’s not your fault, Izabela. It’s alright! We should have done better, should have been there.”

Mephisto’s hand found her waist and held her, grounding her. The tears spilled down her cheeks and her father made a swallowing noise, lacing his fingers through hers.

“We’re proud of you.” He whispers.

“No we’re not.” Her mother counters.

“Mora!”

“Shut it! You were sent off with Ellira so she could train you, prepare you to fix this world, to defeat Gramorr. To help us.” There’s another pause, a few more steps and swirls of fabric on the uneven floors.

“And you failed.” The voice is close, and Iris jerks back, into Mephisto, away from it.

“You were a mistake. I should have just destroyed him when I had the chance! If it weren’t for you I would have been strong enough, I could have saved us!”

“I could have saved everyone!”

Mephisto pulls Iris out of the room, her eyes shock-wide and a hand covering her mouth.

She thinks her parents were crying.

She knows she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: who knows how long til i update  
> also me: but...
> 
> comments keep me working, or apparently sugar and restlessness! let me know how y'all like how this story is coming along, and what you think will happen ;)


	8. Chapter 8

When they get back to his room, Praxina is waiting.

He should have expected this.

“Prax.”

“You took her up to the tower.”

“The tower?” His eyebrows rise. “Be more specific, sister.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She walks forward to lift a strand of Iris’ hair, dusted with the angry pink crystal dust that she hadn’t noticed coating the room.

Even though it was tragic that Iris would never get to see her father’s kind eyes, he was grateful that she’d never see the furious glaze to her mother’s.

He wished he could forget.

Iris leans into him, away from his sister, her face coated in tears and her nose red.

“You know better.” Praxina clucks her tongue.

“You don’t have to tell him.”

“He already knows.”

Mephisto’s heart pauses.

“You can’t protect her from this.”

Mephisto swallows.

“I- what’s she talking about?” Iris whispers, turning her face towards his.

“Didn’t you explain everything?” Praxina’s eyebrows arch up.

“Explain what?”

The boy bit his lip, looking between them. “I- I was going to tell you- but there was never a good time-“

“Good time for what?” The princess twists in his arms to back up, his sister resting her gloved palms on the girl’s shoulders to make her jump.

“That’s right brother, good time for what?”

There’s mockery in Prax’s eyes, but sympathy too.

“Your parents are going to die.”

Iris’s eyes flicker as she processes it, her face turning lower, the flush spreading from her nose to her cheeks.

“What- what from? Why? How did you know?”

“Gramorr is going to execute them. I…” He swallowed again.

“I couldn’t let them die without you meeting them.”

“Go to hell.” Iris spits, reaching up to swat at his sister’s hands.

“Ah, no no princess,” Praxina clucks her tongue and tightens her grip. “You know I’d love not to be touching you, but really, I must insist.”

She shoves the princess forward and Iris screams, Mephisto stepping forwards to catch her.

“What are you talking about?” He stares at her.

“Gramorr said she was your responsibility. He’ll go easy on you this first time, but after this?”

She clucks her tongue.

There’s something stormy in her eyes, and he thinks it’s fear.

She snaps her fingers and he helps Iris up, wordlessly following his sister.

Iris doesn’t want to come, straining against the grip on her arm, but he can tell exactly what Praxina means.

This is the only mistake he’s allowed to make.

But the question was… what did she mean, go easy on him?

Down the grand staircase and into the throneroom, the man they’d come to know so well standing next to that cat of his, the cat’s tail lashing.

There was a glimmer of something inside a pouch.

There was a healer by his side, a mortar and pestle in her hand, her hair piled up on her head, her billowing sleeves and trousers gauzy and threatening.

Iris couldn’t see a lick of it.

He swallowed.

Praxina turns to him and takes the princess by her hips, fresh angry tears down the girl’s cheeks as she’s pulled forward, away from him, her fists bouncing uselessly against Praxina’s broad new uniform, her feet straining and stumbling as she’s dragged forward.

This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

Gramorr descends the stairs, lifting his evil fist, and Praxina steps to the side.

Crystal chains lock onto Iris’ wrists and ankles, a thick gag covering her mouth. She’s held in place, arms stretched the side and her back arched, her hair getting swept up and over her shoulder.

With one sharp movement, Gramorr twists his wrist, and every bandage on her back is shredded, the healing ointments and dots of blood scattering the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye there’s movement, and Mephisto spots Banes shifting, his muscles rippling under his fur.

What, was he just waiting to pounce and rip Iris’ throat out?

Praxina backs away, her eyes locked on Mephisto’s.

He’s shaking.

The healer ghosts forward, but suddenly Mephisto has a feeling that this won’t be something he wants to see.

The mortar is lifted, then a shower of glimmering crystal slides down her back, catching on the scabs and dots of blood.

At first there is nothing.

Then Iris sucks in a gasp.

Then Mephisto takes a step forward.

Then there is a bloodcurdling scream.

 _Melzah crystal_.

Praxina crosses the room to get to him, to keep him from interrupting, and he sees Banes rise as well, fresh tears pouring down the princess’s cheeks as the crystals latch onto the wetness, soaking up her blood and expanding.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

They soak up her magic as well as her blood, coloring pink and stretching, tearing new marks into her skin then spreading and sealing them just as quickly.

If Iris had been healing at all before this, she never would now.

He can’t hear anything other than the blood roaring in his ears and her screams of pain, the rumbling growl and padding of a cat’s feet.

What could he do?

The crystals grow larger and more skin splits, blood trailing in dark red lines down her skin, the crystals racing down to capture as much as they could.

The princess’s chest heaves with the effort, sweat beading up and sliding down too, more crystals forming in feather-light trails down her skin, undoubtedly removable but in the same breath painful.

“No!” Mephisto shouts, tugging out of Praxina’s grip.

Banes stomps his paw, and the tall windows shatter, the spell broken, the binds broken, everyone in the room cowering from the falling glass.

For those few seconds, Praxina holds him close, not letting him run and potentially get hit.

It happened too suddenly for anyone to lift a magic barrier to protect themselves.

The sound was deafening.

His heart caught in his throat.

_Iris._


End file.
